


Living Is a Gamble

by Telesilla



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Apocalypse, Community: satedan_grabass, M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2010-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after the Plague, life's a little like an RPG.  Or is it more like a comic book?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Is a Gamble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fizzyblogic (phizzle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/gifts).



> I'm not sure how graphic the violence really is, so I figured better safe than sorry. It's no more graphic than an average episode of SGA.

  
   
When John was a teenager, back at the turn of the century and decades before the Plague, he'd played a lot of computer games. He hadn't cared much about the rest of the bullshit that came with being a poor little rich boy, but he'd always had the best equipment and the latest games, both MMOs and console games. And, playing so many games, he'd gotten to know certain tropes pretty well.

Including this one.

"Of course," he said staring at the manhole cover.  "What's a hunt for lost knowledge without a fucking sewer crawl?"

''Huh?" Ronon muttered, digging in his bag. "Okay, here it is," he added after a moment, pulling out a hooked bar of metal.

"What's that?"

"Manhole cover lifter."

"Of course," John said.  "You carry that around all the time?"

"Nah." Before John could offer to help, Ronon hooked the end of the tool into the hole in the manhole cover and then, with a low grunt, pulled the cover off. In spite of the circumstances, John took a minute to admire his biceps. "Just when I think we might need it."

"You knew we were going down into the sewers?"  John scowled and Ronon shrugged.

I figured it'd be the easiest way to get to that office building.  There'll be more zombies in the streets than down in the sewers."

If Rodney were with them he'd be rolling his eyes and insisting that Ronon use the right term.  Since he wasn't, however, John just nodded and started down through the manhole. Once inside, he pulled out a flashlight and stepped back to give Ronon some room.

"As sewers go," Ronon said a few moments later, "this isn't too bad."

John wrinkled his nose.  While it was true that the small amount of liquid running through it was more water than anything else, the smell was still thick and heavy and almost enough to gag him.  But that was him; Ronon probably didn't smell anything.

"Not like anyone's been using them," Ronon added.

_True enough_, John thought. After all, it had been ten years since roughly eighty percent of the population had died.  These days, the cities were mostly full of the ten percent that had been...changed by the virus.  Most normal people lived close to the land; it was hard work just keeping fed these days.

_And then there's me._

"This way," Ronon said when they reached a point where the tunnel they were in split and went off in three diffrent directions.  Ronon pointed left.

"Okay." John grinned.  "Not like I'd have a clue; I'm bad enough with maps above ground."

"Yeah, well, you have your uses." Given the faint light, John felt Ronon's leer more than he saw it.

"Easy for you to say," he muttered, but as they headed off, he reached out and gripped Ronon's shoulder.

A half hour later, Ronon paused and looked at his map. "Okay," he said.  "If we go back up to the surface here, we'll be right in front of...."

John held up a hand.  "Wait, I hear something." He shuddered just a little--he used _hear_ but really it was more like _feel_.  "Ahead of us...coming this way I think."

Even as he spoke, Ronon was stuffing his flashlight into his pocket and bringing his gun into firing position.  John did the same, peering ahead as his eyes adjusted to the near total darkness. Even over the smell of the sewer, he could smell them, and really, he'd rather smell old sewer smells than other...than zombies.

"There are about ten of them," he said.  "Ordinary grunts, I think."

"Easy," Ronon said, and John grinned.

"Yeah," he said.  And there they were; he could see them now.  "Here they come...."

The grunts went down in a hail of gunfire before any of them could reach John and Ronon.  John almost felt sorry for them--almost, but not quite.  It wasn't always easy to predict how common grunts would react to him, but there was no doubt that they'd do their best to take Ronon down.

"Any more down here?" Ronon asked, reaching for his flashlight.

"Probably, but none in my range."

"Good enough for me."

This time John lifted the manhole cover, trying not to make it look too easy.  Ronon knew, of course--everyone in the Enclave knew--but John hadn't survived three years on his own after the Plague by being careless.

They'd entered the sewer system on the outskirts of town, but now, as John blinked and tried to adjust to the light, he could see that they were in front of a rundown looking office building. He checked the number on the building and nodded at Ronon.

"Looks like Rodney's map was right.  I suppose it's too much to hope the files he wants still exist."

"Probably," Ronon said. "But you know how he is."

"Yeah," John said, and really, he couldn't complain. Rodney could be a pain in the ass, but he, more than anyone, was responsible for the Enclave.

The door had been pried open, but John didn't sense anything.  "At least we only have to go up to the fifth floor," he said as they crossed the lobby, picking their way over glass and chunks of burned wood that had once been furniture. "At times like this, I really miss elevators."

They took the stairs slowly but steadily, not talking much.  As they start up the third flight, John paused and frowned.  "There's something...I'm not sure what, though."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Yeah, neither do I.  I wish Teyla were here."

The feeling got stronger, until, as they reached the fourth floor, John's skin was crawling and he could smell something really familiar.

"Are you okay?" Ronon gave him a concerned look.  "You're kind of pale."

"You can tell?" John said with a snort of laughter.

"Yeah, that's why I'm worried."

"I think...no, I'm pretty sure we're dealing with something like me."

"Someone," Ronon said firmly.

"Whatever." John paused at the door and then stood back. "Here," he said, pulling one of his few flash-bangs out of his vest pocket. He opened his mouth to add more and Ronon shook his head and silenced him with a gesture.

_Right, it might be able to hear me._

Ronon opened the door quickly, and then ducked and rolled, tossing the grenade. Even with his face buried in his arm, John could catch a little of the brightness and he winced as someone shrieked. Gun at the ready, John shoved through the door, standing over Ronon and taking in the situation in the hall.  There were four grunts, whimpering as they tried to see and behind them....

John had expected anything but he was still totally taken aback.  The figure making that strange keening noise was female.  She was darker than he was, almost indigo, and he could see the gleam of chitin all along her neck and arms.  Behind the stench of the grunts, he could smell something spicy, something....

He took a step closer and then another, barely aware of anything but her scent and the fact that he was hard and aching.  _This is wrong...I didn't know...._

"Ronon," he gasped hoarsely. "Help...."

Going up on one knee in front of John, Ronon laid down a steady burst of fire, the bullets ripping through the grunts.  It took all John had not to stop him and, as the woman finally started taking hits, John stepped forward, the smell of her blood thick in his nostrils. He had to save her, had to protect....

Ronon slammed his shoulder into the back of John's knee and, surprised, John went down.  There was another shriek and then he could see that she was down as well. He rolled, lunging for Ronon only to come up short, staring at the barrel of Ronon's P-90.

"Thought you said you were gay," Ronon said, startling a bark of laughter out of John.

"Yeah," he finally said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.  The spicy, compelling scent was fading, replaced by that of blood and death.  "God....I'm sorry."

"Don't be stupid." Ronon lowered his gun. "You okay?"

"Think so."

They got to their feet and John walked down the hall, trying to reconcile its blandness with the pile of dead...things.

He'd been afraid she would still be alive, but she was dead, her yellow, cat-like eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling.  She wore jeans and a tank top, probably, he guessed, looking at her arms, because the jagged edges of her chitin would rip regular sleeves.  Reaching out, he closed her eyes.

"There aren't any more in this building," he said tightly, standing up and backing away. "C'mon."

"Gimme a minute," Ronon said, and John shrugged and headed back for the stairs.  After a moment, Ronon joined him but when John raised an inquisitive eyebrow, he shook his head.

Cracking the small wall safe in the office Rodney had sent them to was easy; John didn't even had to put his ear against the door to hear the clicks as he spun the dial.

"I'll be damned," Ronon said, "looks like the stuff is still in here."

They loaded papers and crystal drives and even a bunch of older flash drives into their packs and then John laughed a little.  "There's about fifty grand in cash in here and, oh hey, look at this."  He held up a small dark box.

"After dinner mints? Are you kidding?"

"Look inside," John said, handing him the box.

Ronon looked surprised at the weight and John smiled when he opened the box and pulled out a gold coin. "Those boxes are the right size for certain kinds of gold coins. Don't ask me how I know, it's long and kinda boring story."

"Too bad gold isn't worth anything."

"I know, right?" But John took the box from him and tucked it into his pack.  Maybe they could melt it down and find someone who could make jewelry out of it.  Or maybe he was still, somehow, Patrick Shepard's son and simply couldn't leave hard currency behind.

The trip back to where they'd hidden the motorcyle was uneventful and by sundown they were back to the old rest stop they'd planned to use as a campsite.

"Let's keep moving," John said when they stopped.  "I can drive; there's enough light for me to see the road."

"Yeah, okay," Ronon replied. They switched places and he settled behind John, wrapping his arms around John's waist.

It was four in the morning by the time they reached Enclave's first check point.  "Everything okay?" Chuck asked.  "We weren't expecting you until some time tomorrow."

"We're fine," John said, trying to not to shiver too much. It had gotten cold once they hit the desert and he was paying the price for driving instead of riding behind Ronon. "Just made good time is all."

John'd been hoping they'd be able to sneak into their room, but, of course, Rodney was still up.  "What?!" he said when John looked pointedly at his watch. "Teyla's tossing and turning a lot tonight...I'll be damn glad when she finally has the baby."

"I'm sure she will too," Ronon said and Rodney had the grace to look chagrined for a second.

"Anyway, what the hell are you two doing back so early?"

"Merry Christmas, Rodney," John said, holding up his pack.

"They were there?  Sanchez's files?" He took John's pack and then made grabby hands at Ronon until Ronon handed his pack over as well. "I'm sure Sturgeon's Law more than applies, but still...if his notes on the power transference system for the fission power plants are in here...."

"You're welcome," John said dryly and Rodney shot him a look.

"You'll be thanking me if I can integrate this information into my own research."  Rodney turned and headed back toward his office.  "Okay fine," he added over his shoulder. "Thanks."

John could almost feel his feet again as Ronon steered him down the hall to the living quarters, but he was still freezing.  Once in their room, he started to stumble toward the bed, but Ronon aimed him at the bathroom instead.

The warm water of the shower felt fantastic and John perked up enough to help wash himself off; if he was tired, Ronon must be exhausted.  But Ronon just chuckled when John said something along those lines.

"Nah, I'm good.  You always forget what the cold does to you."

They were both still damp as they tumbled into bed, but John didn't care.  He pulled Ronon close and here, in private, he could do this, could cling just a little.

"You okay?"

"Not really, but that's nothing new."  He turned his head and kissed Ronon, and Ronon let him get away with it, kissing him back instead of asking questions.  "Need you," he mumbled against Ronon's lips.

They were both too tired for anything complicated.  John spread his legs when Ronon rolled him on his back and then moaned as Ronon moved on top of him.  Ronon felt warm and he smelled good and then better as they moved against each other and he started sweating.

"Yeah," John groaned. "Oh fuck...yeah...."  As Ronon reached down between them and wrapped his hand around both their dicks, John dragged his hands up Ronon's back, scratching carefully with his tough nails.

"God," Ronon gasped, his hand speeding up.

John did it again and shoved into Ronon's hand a couple more times before he threw his head back against the pillow, keened and came  _hard_. Ronon was right there with him; John could smell the sharp scent of come as Ronon came and he took deep gulping breaths, wanting to forget the smell of spice and the woman's pheromones.

Still panting a little, Ronon bent down and kissed John hard before rolling off him.  John reached down and grabbed one of their shirts, managing a clumsy cleanup before he settled up against Ronon's side.

"She was military," Ronon finally said, after a long moment of silence.

"Huh?"

"She had tags.  They're in my pocket."

"Jesus...."  John took a deep breath. "No one ever said anything about trying it out on women."

"Yeah well, they didn't tell you what they were doing to you, let alone anyone else."

"They did after I started changing."  While it was hard, really hard, to talk about the experimentation with anyone, John had always made an effort with Ronon. Maybe it was that, when they met, Ronon had been on his own for so long that he seemed almost as alien and wild as John felt.  Or maybe it was just that they'd managed to build something between them in the last three years.  Whatever it was, John not only felt like he _should_ talk to Ronon about things, but that he _could_ talk to him.

"I wonder if they thought they could breed us," he said. "Generations of genetically super soldiers.... Jesus, it's like something from a comic book."

"Yeah, well, so is trying to create super soldiers in the first place. And from an alien virus at that."

"True enough."

"Maybe," Ronon said, "she wasn't part of the experiment.  She could have changed after the virus got out of control."

"I hope not."

"Why?"

"Just think about it.  We've run into bugs before. You know, the people who didn't turn into the zombie grunts?"

"Yeah." Ronon shuddered and John couldn't blame him.  The grunts really were a lot like classic zombies--slow and stupid and while they wouldn't acutally eat your brain, they'd suck the life right out of you with the weird slits on their hands.

What John--and everyone but Rodney--called bugs were big, blue and fast.  Like John, they didn't have the weird hand mouths, and John didn't really want to think about what they ate.  Fortunately, they weren't all that common. Jennifer suspected that most of them hadn't survived the change and John, remembering how awful his own change had been, even though he'd been surrounded by doctors and scientists, was pretty sure she was right.

"But that woman today, she wasn't at all like a bug; she was a lot more like me. I'd hate to think there were more of us out there."

"No she wasn't."

"Huh?" John went up on one elbow to look at Ronon.

"She wasn't like you at all. She let me shoot her," Ronon said. "She just stood there and didn't even try to dodge or do any of the stuff I've seen you do in a fire fight. I think she wanted to die."  He pulled John back down and held him close. "Not like you at all."

Here in the safe warmth with his eyes closed, it was easy to say it.  "Only because I have you."

"And the rest of the people here in the Enclave."

"Maybe." John pressed a kiss against Ronon's shoulder. "But mainly? You're the one who keeps me sane...treats me like any other human."

"That's because you are."  Ronon stroked a hand up John's back, fingers gentle against blue scales, and John finally felt himself relaxing.  "Now go to sleep, okay?"

"Mmm...yeah, okay."

And just like that, John drifted into sleep.

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> A Satedan Grabass fic written for fizzyblogic. One of the things that he wanted was an AU and for some reason this is where my mind went with that. The title is a line from "Blues Run the Game" by Simon and Garfunkel. Many thanks to Darkrose for the once over. And yes, gold coins really do fit in After Eight dinner mint boxes.


End file.
